


Bloodstains (and) Ball Gowns

by felinedetached



Series: You can try and take us [4]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Gen, Writing Assignment
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-01
Updated: 2017-11-01
Packaged: 2019-01-28 04:28:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 944
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12598132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/felinedetached/pseuds/felinedetached
Summary: A descriptive piece based in Titania's Palace, as a part of my Fae AU.Golden light flows into the room, originating from the huge frosted windows placed behind the raised dais at the end of the hall. On top of the dais there sits a gilded throne. Its back arches towards the roof, gnarled and diverging like the branches of a tree. Knowing the lady who sits perched upon that throne, it probably is one – for elegantly draped across it is Titania, Queen of the Fae.





	Bloodstains (and) Ball Gowns

Golden light flows into the room, originating from the huge frosted windows placed behind the raised dais at the end of the hall. On top of the dais there sits a gilded throne. Its back arches towards the roof, gnarled and diverging like the branches of a tree. Knowing the lady who sits perched upon that throne, it probably is one – for elegantly draped across it is Titania, Queen of the Fae.

 

Wavy blonde hair falls in a waterfall down the side of the throne, pooling gently on the floor of the raised platform. It glimmers in the soft light, almost seeming to shift and flow – much like the waterfall many compare it to. At its origin, there rests a laurel crown, gilded much like the throne on which its owner rests. Green eyes survey the room, taking note of the various nobles sitting in the corners and leaning against pillars. Although their colour is dissimilar to ice, the only way to describe them is icy. The aura she projects is cold, unyielding and overwhelming, the presence of a ruler used to getting their way with no arguments, no discussion. Someone who doesn’t care what they have to do – who they have to go through – to get what they want. It's chilling.

 

On each side of the throne there stands two horned beings in uniform, a deep oak-forest-green with golden buttons to match the throne and laurel crown of the Queen they serve. Each carries a dragon-headed cane, gold and white with inlaid rubies to serve as the eyes. Their eyes, in contrast, are a sharp teal blue, scanning the room in a careful, measured manner. Doorways are lingered on, examined with more care than the centre of the room, where their view is unobstructed until the pillars. The slightest flash of movement makes their whole demeanour shift, hands tightening on their canes, shifting ever so slightly closer to the Queen. No matter how tense, their eyes are still kinder than their ruler’s.

 

The movement that caught the eye of the Queen’s guards was caused by one of the nobles resting against a pillar mid-way down the hall. This one, in particular, bears a striking resemblance to the Queen, with golden hair cut into a bob and piercing lilac eyes. On her head, there rests a simplistic version of the golden laurel crown located on the Queen. It betrays her status to all who look, and many look. She stands tall beside the pillar, expression neutral and eyes steely, avoiding those who attempt to catch her gaze.  The hint of discolouration high on her cheekbone, and the stiffness of how she stands betrays the state in which she finds herself. Those around her notice, but do not comment, for they do not wish to anger the Queen.

 

Across the room, another noble rests in one of the many chairs lining the walls. Tangerine eyes bore into the side of the Queen's head, ignoring all else in the room. His expression exposes nothing, carefully crafted to obscure his thoughts from those who might wonder. A third laurel crown rests on his head, blonde hair carefully styled around it. On him, it is harder to see the signs - being seated, he is less stiff - seemingly more relaxed, and the bruising is only evident around the collar of his shirt. Those around him notice nothing, preferring to chat amongst themselves rather than watch the sullen young royal in the corner.

 

Eventually, the Queen’s gaze meets the one so forcibly boring into her head, and the noble finally looks away, his gaze dropping almost submissively to stare at the ground in front of his feet. Satisfied, Titania shifts her gaze to the purple-eyed noble on the other side of the hall. When the noble finally notices the gaze resting on her, her posture instantly shifts; shoulders tensing as she transfers her gaze to the ground. Intimidation complete, the Queen once again looks towards the doors, expectant.

 

As if summoned, the elegant double doors fly open, allowing a rag-tag group dressed in muted browns and greens to parade into the hall. Varied weapons are carried on their persons, from a chainsaw dripping blood onto the floor to a longsword with various jewels embedded in its hilt. One bears only a velvet cushion, its precious burden covered with an elegantly embroidered cloth. The group strides confidently through the hall, stopping just before the dais as Queen Titania sits up to receive them.

 

“The Hunt has brought your trophy, your Majesty,” is announced, as the Hunt kneels before their Queen. Titania smirks, beckoning up the ram-horned girl with the cushion. She rises, climbing the few steps to the top of the dais before removing the cloth from the trophy offered. A pair of eyes with blue irises bob slowly in an ornate glass jar. Titania’s smirk shifts into a delighted smile, and she carefully takes the jar from the girl, who retreats back down the dais to kneel with her fellows once more.

 

“The Hunt’s trophy is accepted, and much appreciated. There are now very few colours left to complete my collection. May I trust that you bring them to me?”

 

“Of course, my Queen,” is the careful response, before a nod is received and the Hunt turns to leave, and with it, so do many of the royals scattered throughout the hall.

 

With her throne room cleared, Titania is free to toss back her head and laugh, golden laurel crown almost slipping from her head to the floor.

 

“Two more colours, indeed,” she says to the empty room, voice as hard as nails, “Purple and orange would be _quite_ nice.”

**Author's Note:**

> dies
> 
> its 21ºC
> 
> The temperature is killing me
> 
> I got an excellence on this be proud of me


End file.
